


Manhattans & Lost Hearts

by DandelionCares



Category: Trolls (Movies 2016 2020)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:56:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27471613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DandelionCares/pseuds/DandelionCares
Summary: Branch has been away at war for the last 4 years and is now back at his hometown of Bunstown, ready to start life again as a bartender at a local bar.Poppy, his sweetheart, has waited for him for over 4 years, but has no idea he is back in town, let alone if he's alive.Will they cross paths again?
Relationships: Branch & Queen Poppy (Trolls), Branch/Queen Poppy (Trolls)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 37
Collections: Best Broppy





	Manhattans & Lost Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little oneshot inspired by the song 'I Never Talk To Strangers' by Tom Waits and Bette Midler (video link is at the top of this story, I recommend you play it!). A fantastic song that helps set the mood for this little oneshot.
> 
> Massive shoutout to the beautiful @bunkerbash over on Instagram for her amazing prompts and ideas for this piece! This art piece is also part of the #trollingthroughtime Drawing Challenege that I highly recommend everyone has a go at! Historic fashion is SO FUN!!!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

[I Never Talk To Strangers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6lu51WVRfmE) \- song inspiration for this oneshot!

The city of Bunstown.

The year was 1946. The World War had come to its grim conclusion 6 months prior, and finally the world was settling back into a state of normalcy. Trolls were getting back into the workforce and were venturing out more socially to parties and gatherings. The general atmosphere about town was lifting. 

Branch had returned to his hometown two months ago after being away for nearly 4 years. He had picked up a job quickly as a barman at one of the smaller, less impressive bars on the lower west side of town. After the war, bartending had become a highly sought-after skillset, one that Branch had luckily acquired before the war. More bars and public houses were opening. Everyone was drinking more. But they were also dancing more. Branch was quietly appreciative for all of it. It was nice to be back.

Branch wiped the bar top of food and spills for the umpteenth time that evening. The time was 9:45pm, and his shift had been a relatively quiet one for a Friday night. No food fights, no obnoxious groups of yodelling kareokers, no table dancing. Such a quiet evening had led Branch to delving into the depths of his liquor shelf, dusting and rearranging the hundreds of bottles on display, taking inventory, his mind wandering on thoughts… and people… of the past…

Poppy.

Hair, how he had wished he didn’t have to think of them as if they were past tense. His heart had ached for his girl for 4 years since he had been called to duty. He wrote her every week. She wrote back every week. And then… then the letters started becoming more sparse. One every month… then 3 months… till eventually the letters stopped altogether. Life got crazy. Mail services became haphazard and unpredictable. He tried to write her again nearly a year later, but so much time had passed by then that his mind had become uncertain, even if his heart stayed true. Did she still care? Did she miss him?

He came back and looked all over the city for her on his return, but there was no trace of her anywhere. Her apartment had been rented out to someone else, her friends had all seemed to have moved on. So, with a heavy heart, he resigned his feelings and got himself a job, finding a sense of purpose while retaining the dimming flicker of hope that maybe, maybe…. one day things might change.

But here is was, in a small, unassuming bar on the lower west side, still waiting 4 years and two months later.

Suddenly a voice behind him at the bar snapped him out of his thoughts.

“Bartender, I’d like a Manhattan. With a sugar rim, if you please.”

Branch’s ear perked up at the voice and his insides internally froze.

He knew the people in this town. No one ordered Manhattans. Let alone Manhattans with a damn sugar rim.

Only one person, possibly in the entire world, ordered a stiff drink with such ridiculous flamboyancy.

Her.

The waft of subtle strawberry scented perfume confirmed his suspicions, and his heart, for what felt like it had been dormant for the last 5 years, started to beat with a rising rhythm in his chest again.

Yet he kept his back turned, replacing the last few bottles back on the shelf. Keeping cool. But he smiled under his dipped Ivy cap. The lighting in the bar was low blue light and didn’t give the best visibility, and he was keen to use that to his advantage for a little game.

“Stop me if you’ve heard this one…but…” he stood up gradually, adjusting a few bottles on the middle shelf. “But your voice sounds familiar, ma’am.”

He heard a snort from behind him.

“Let me guess,” his lady’s voice sounded bored, like she had heard the spiel before. “It’s just that I remind you of some broad you used to care ‘so deeply’ about, am I right?” He heard her scoff. “Ah, but that was long ago, wasn’t it Cassanova?”

Branch turned around slowly, guarded; still keeping well back in the shadows to face her. And as he did, his breath completely faltered as his eyes fell on her.

There she was. His girl. His Poppy. Sitting at HIS bar in a glorious red cocktail dress with off-the-shoulder straps. Pearls dangling from her neck and twisting around her fidgeting fingers. Oh, how he missed those fidgeting fingers. He brought his eyes up to her face and couldn’t help but smile at her expression. She had no idea it was him, eyebrow raised towards him in the shadows and unimpressed. She was leaning on the bar with her beautiful bare shoulder peaking towards him from the lowered strap of her dress. Gee, fashion had changed a LOT since he last saw her. Her beautiful lips almost, ALMOST pouting. She never realized she was doing it half the time. 

And by hair, he loved it.

“Don’t think I’m gonna fall for that line, buddy,” she said, turning her focus to twiddling her pearls in her hands. She threw a smug look back in his direction, obviously pleased with herself that she had caught him out. 

Branch held off making her drink, momentarily blindsided by the want to coax more conversation out of her. He missed the sound of her voice so much. It was music to his ears compared to the usual gruff masculine tones he was used to around the bar. He grabbed a cloth and a glass from under the bar, for the barman’s go-to move of drying already-dry glasses. Keeps the mood relaxed, a trick he learned in his early days of bartending. 

“So, what’s your story, Miss? What brings you to this side of town late on a Friday night?”

Poppy replied almost too quickly.

“No story,” she shrugged, turning her gaze away. “Just having a quiet drink.”

“Alone.”

She swung her head back, accusing. “And shouldn’t that be fine?”

“Gals never drink alone unless they’re crazy, depressed… crazy depressed or waiting for someone. I dunno,” he shrugged. “You seem like you could be waiting for someone?”

Poppy’s eyes dropped to the ground, her expression instantly saddened.

“I’ve given up waiting,” she said quietly, almost to herself. She lifted her head, feigning a unphased smile. “Let’s just say I’m depressed then, ok?”

Branch pressed further. “Who was he?”

Poppy’s visibly stiffened at the question. She felt like snapping at this barman for the rude questions, but something made her stop. She sighed. It had been so long since she had anyone to talk to about it. It still hurt. A barman was usually a safe space with no judgement, right? Right now she really didn’t care.

“He left to fight the war, like you all did. He promised he’d come back. We wrote to each other and then things got bad. I didn’t hear from him for a year. In his very last letter he asked me to wait, so I did. I stayed in this damn city. I waited for 4 years. I cried every night wishing he was next to me in my bed. But here I am, still waiting. He was a barman before the war, so of course I’ve spent the last 4 years seeking out every drinking hole this city has to offer, hoping he’d be there, or at least show up. But…” her voice suddenly wobbled. She looked so defeated. “It turns out he’s not here. He’s not anywhere. I don’t even know if he’s alive…” a sob caught in her throat.

Branch wanted to reach out and grab her hand. Their reunion was so close he could touch it. Just a few moments more. He leaned a little closer, his form dipping a little into the blue light.

“Do you love him?”

She glared across to him with tear streaked cheeks, still unaware. “Look, bar boy,” she snapped angrily. “I didn’t come to this bar to be hassled. Are you going to give me my damn drink or what?”

Branch raised his hands in surrender and backed away to gather the ingredients. “Yes, ma’am.”

Poppy huffed and busied herself with drying her eyes as Branch prepared the drink. At the last minute he popped a candied heart into the glass. He pushed it out across the counter, exposing his hand and arm to the light.

“Ma’am.”

Poppy looked up from her compact across to the drink, her eyes catching on the hand that was delivering it. She gasped when she saw the hue of the teal skin. And the unmistakable deep scar across the knuckles. She looked up, eyes wide as Branch finally stepped into the light, eyes sparkling and a beautiful warm smile on his lips.

“Hey, Poppy.”


End file.
